


things that are forged in fire

by sailingthenightsea



Series: this is destiny [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 01, Violently, also geralt and ciri fluff, and how does she reunite with our favorite witcher, bc i am shameless, get your found family here folks, im a ho for that shit, of course, where's she been? what's she been up to?, yen's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22359127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingthenightsea/pseuds/sailingthenightsea
Summary: The woman smiles wryly. “Oh, child, if a woman comes to your door beaten and bloodied, you let her in. This is a heartless world; there’s no reason to withhold kindness when you have enough to spare.” With that, she gently pats Yennefer’s leg and stands. “You need to rest, dear. I may not know your story, but I’ve known enough to know when someone’s been through hell.”
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: this is destiny [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594753
Comments: 52
Kudos: 396





	things that are forged in fire

**Author's Note:**

> part four!!
> 
> i'm riding this high as long as i can y'all
> 
> buckle in

She is fire and fire and fire. She is burning and flames and smoke. She is the orange glow staining the night sky.

She is fire.

And fire.

And fire.

She is rage. She is everything and she is everything and she is the end of it all.

She is fire until she is nothing. Until she is ash and brittle charred wood. The last rattling breath in a dying thing’s chest.

 _Close your eyes_ , someone says, and it sounds like her mother. _Sleep now. Rest._

She is everything, then she is the velvet dark or she is wrapped in it. She is blurred beyond her edges. She is the sky and the starlight and the earth and the stone.

She is everything.

And she is nothing.

 _Sleep_ , the honey sweet voice says, and she does.

-

Warmth comes first, and she revels in it. Pain comes second, but she is familiar with it.

The gentle press of metal against her lips comes third, the gentle coaxing fourth, and the relief that is water spilling down her dry throat fifth.

Her body tries to slip away again, but there is just enough left of her mind to cling to the feeling of sheets against her skin and blessedly cool air against her face. It clings and she drags herself out of the soft warm dark nothing, forcing her eyes open, fumbling blindly.

A shift of someone’s weight and a stranger’s voice making quiet promises that she’s safe she’s far away from the danger now.

The light is painful, but so is everything else about the world she’s holding onto so tightly. She blinks once twice and three times before the blurs around her begin to take shape.

She can make out the older woman’s smile as she says, “You’re certainly stronger than one might think. I didn’t expect you to survive the first night, let alone wake up so soon.”

Yennefer’s throat aches and clicks as she swallows, trying to get it to work. The woman offers more water and she drinks greedily. Then, finally, she forces the words out. “Where am I?”

The woman winces in sympathy at the rough strain of her voice. “The closest city is Rivia, but it’s about a day’s walk from here.”

She feels a pang of something she doesn’t want to think about, shoves it down, ignores it. Presses on to more important things. “How did—” her voice cracks, breaks and the woman gives her more water.

“How did you get here? I’m not sure,” she chuckles. “I was rather hoping you would be able to answer that for me.” She studies Yennefer’s face for a moment before nodding. “About a week ago—the night of that awful battle in Sodden—I jerked awake from a strange dream to hear you knocking at the door. I went to check and you were half conscious clinging to the doorway. You asked for help and collapsed, so I brought you in here.”

“Why,” she coughs, flinches. “Why would you do that? Take in a stranger?”

The woman smiles wryly. “Oh, child, if a woman comes to your door beaten and bloodied, you let her in. This is a heartless world; there’s no reason to withhold kindness when you have enough to spare.” With that, she gently pats Yennefer’s leg and stands. “You need to rest, dear. I may not know your story, but I’ve known enough to know when someone’s been through hell.”

-

Another week passes before Yennefer can move around on her own. Then it’s three more days after that when she manages to convince the woman, Meira, that she’s well enough to move on.

“I still think it’s a terrible idea,” Meira says again, as she fusses with the tie on the cloak she insisted Yen take with her, along with the tunic and trousers she just so happened to have in her size (and for which she refused to take payment).

Yennefer scoffs lightly. “I’m much older than you, Meira, I think I can take care of myself from here on.” Then, she sighs, says, “I don’t believe there’s anything I could ever do to pay you back for your kindness.”

This time it’s Meira who scoffs. “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing all my services are free. All I ask is that you don’t waste all my effort by running off and getting yourself killed first thing.”

“Of course. I’ll try to at least make it the second thing.”

“Oh, well, what a relief,” Meira says, rolling her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

And then Yennefer surprises them both by folding the woman into a hug, whispering, “Thank you.”

Meira laughs a little wetly. “Any time, child. If you ever need a safe place, you can always come back here.” She smiles softly, crinkling the skin around her eyes. Then she exhales shakily, blinks the moisture from her eyes, pats Yennefer’s cheek, and says, “Well, you better get a move on if you’re going to make it anywhere safe before nightfall.”

Yen nods, and she leaves the small cottage on the edge of the woods.

-

She walks because her magic has been too volatile to trust since she woke up. The first time she’d tried to use it, she’d shattered three cups and sent both of Meira’s cats tearing out of the house.

In the first town, she steals a horse from the fullest stable. In the second, she takes a job at the tavern for a couple nights, letting herself slip away in the white noise of mindless work. In the third, she hears the barkeep talking about a white-haired witcher who had stayed there a couple weeks earlier. He’d had a young girl with him, he’d said. And, evidently, killed a man before dawn and disappeared.

In the fourth, a bard (not Jaskier, thank the gods) sings the ballad of Geralt of Rivia.

In the fifth, the innkeeper told her, yes, the Witcher had been here about a week prior. “It was the sweetest thing,” she’d said, “how he doted on that girl of his. Didn’t seem much like a butcher to me.” She’d thanked the woman, then turned around and left.

She’s lost count of how many towns it had been when someone across the tavern says, “So how’d it go with that witcher here last night?”

“Oh, he was a lovely guest,” the innkeeper told the man. “Quiet, clean. And that girl was the sweetest thing. They must have lit out of here before sunrise, though. The room was empty when I checked this morning.”

Yennefer is up and moving before she can hear any more. She doesn’t want to see him. She wants to be angry—wants to rage at him for taking her choice. If she sees him, though, she knows how easily she’ll forgive him. There is not enough of her that is unconsumed by love for him to stand against it.

Fuck Destiny or the djinn or whatever is dragging her closer to him despite every effort she’s made to run the other way. If he has a child with him, then he’s got to be stopping regularly. So she’ll ride away from every town less than a three day’s journey from here. She tightens her grip on the reins, slides her legs back, and kicks hard, sending the mare flying down the path.

-

It’s four days later when she hears someone cry out, desperate, and the ring of clashing swords. She sighs (dramatically, some might say, though most wouldn’t dare), before dismounting and tying her horse to the nearest tree. The sound is coming from somewhere in the trees, not too far off the path if she’s judging it right.

She freezes when the voice of a young girl rings out, her words soaked with fear. “Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him, please, just leave him alone! Just take me, _please_!”

Her magic fizzes under her skin, rising to the call she never even made, but she doesn’t know if she can trust it not to wipe out everything. Instead, she unsheathes the dagger she’d slipped from a drunk’s belt and creeps silently forward.

“Can’t scream with your daddy in the way, now can you, girlie?” The man’s voice makes Yennefer’s skin crawl.

She sees a young girl with blonde hair first, terrified and staring at someone Yen can’t see. There’s a man with his arm wrapped around her neck and her hands are pulling fruitlessly against it. Tears trip down the girl’s cheeks as she begs and every ounce of protective instinct in Yennefer rages. But she waits, moves to see whatever has the girl so afraid.

Recognition sends a bolt of shock through her, but then again she should’ve known.

There’s a blade against his neck and every muscle in his body is taught. He is rage wrapped in paper, barely contained and bound to explode. The only thing stopping him is the threat against the girl. Yennefer moves slowly until she’s behind the man holding Geralt, takes a breath, then springs. In one fluid movement, she closes the distance between them, buries the blade in the man’s neck, feels blood, warm and thick, spill over her fingers.

The second the blade falls away from Geralt’s chin, he’s surging forward, picking his sword up on the way.

“Stop!” the man cries. “One more step and I’ll kill her—I’ll snap her neck.”

“Geralt!” the girl begs, and Yennefer can read how much he loves this child in the line of shoulders as he freezes in place.

“It’s okay,” he tells her gently.

“Drop the sword,” the man orders shakily. “Now!”

Geralt lowers it to the ground and stands, hands out to the side, palms splayed forward. Suddenly, she knows exactly what he’s about to do, and she lines up her next moves accordingly.

The burst of power at such a close range knocks both the man and the girl to the dirt. The girl rolls away and Yennefer calls, “Geralt!” as she throws the sword that had been lying at her feet. He catches it effortlessly, advances on the man as he scrambles to his feet, then swings. The man’s head hits the ground a few feet away and his body crumples like someone cut all strings from a marionette. The sword clatters at the man’s feet and Yennefer watches as every line in Geralt’s body melts away.

He turns just in time to catch the girl as she flings herself into his arms. There is no hesitation as they close tightly around her and he buries his face in her hair, breathes. “I’m okay,” he murmurs, repeats it like a mantra until she stops shaking.

He pulls back to check over her when she’s calm enough to loosen her iron grip. “What about you? Did he hurt you?” She shakes her head, and he relaxes just a little bit more. He brushes the dirt from her palms, winces. “I’m sorry. I tried not to hit you too hard, but I needed to—”

“It’s alright. You didn’t hurt me,” she says firmly, cutting off his spiral of guilt, and Yennefer smirks as she realizes this girl has him all figured out.

He pulls her back in and the girl goes. After a moment, Yennefer shifts and the movement has his eyes snapping to hers, pinning her in place. Surprise colors his features for a second, like he’d forgotten she was there. Considering his unwavering focus on the girl, she figures he likely had.

“Thank you,” he says and it’s heavier than two words have any right to be.

She nods, turns to leave. And, yes, her heart will stay here with him, but this is the way it has to be. Any pull this strong is bound to take them under should she give in. So she turns her back on him with every intention of walking away.

“Yen, _wait_ ,” he calls and it’s desperate.

She falters, lets her eyes flutter closed against the pain of it. Then, before she can push through it, the girl makes a surprised noise.

“Yennefer?!” she asks incredulously and that makes Yen pause for another reason entirely. The girl’s footsteps pound into the dirt.“Wait, wait! You– You’re Yennefer?” And she turns sharply as the girl catches her arm.

She is met by bright blue eyes searching her face intently and something deep inside of her _pulls_.

“I thought you burned,” the girl says, breathless. “But it was you, wasn’t it? The fire _was you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! hope you enjoyed!! i'm a bit shaky on writing yennefer but i think i did alright? hopefully?? let me know!! like i said before, i thrive on validation so drop a comment or even just a <3 to help me fuel this writing frenzy!! i've got all sorts of ideas bouncing around my head, so do subscribe to the series if you enjoyed this piece!


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